


if you were at that bar (i would have picked you)

by sodadesq



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Criminal Psychology, Dialogue Heavy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Excessive Swearing, Interviews, Male Friendship, Not Beta Read, POV Third Person, Panic Attacks, Period-Typical Homophobia, Psychology, Serial Killers, Slow Burn, Swearing, Ted Gunn is bad at helping, Ted Gunn is just trying to help, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, lower case, slow to update but updates DO come, there is no actual rape that happens to any of the characters, uncomfortable holden ford
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-01-05 19:35:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21213929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodadesq/pseuds/sodadesq
Summary: 1982. a new interview. holden is determined to prove he can still do field work after an incident a month ago.their new interviewee, henry steight, is determined to break down the man he'd heard so much about.bill is determined to get holden away from this psychopath before its too late. it just might be.





	1. meeting

**Author's Note:**

> my fics are written in lowercase. this is intentional and i find it a lot more easier to process my fics in lowercase. i understand if you find it annoying, but please give it a shot. 
> 
> anyway, enjoy.

prisoners leering.  


clanging of prison bars.  


handcuffs jingling.  


chair screeching across the floor.  


recorder button pressed.

these sounds used to intimidate holden. they used to represent a hesitant but determined idea born in the depths of his mind. they still do, he supposes. but there is no hesitation. there is no fear when he hands his gun over, or when he signs his consent form. the prison is a work environment that most would not prevail in. holden does, though. he doesn’t mind being in a room with an untethered murderer. it used to bother him slightly. he used to be wary. his interviewees don’t intimidate him anymore, like they used to. in his mind, the more dangerous they are, the more interesting. 

one thing that hadn’t changed was how chilling all of them were in different ways. he might have adjusted to the rough, meticulous, aloof types, but there was nothing more skin-crawling than how they recounted their crimes. the nonchalance of it – like they were talking about their day was terrifying. some of them had no empathy at all. their eyes were blank. they’d tell you what you needed to know and…that was it. no crying. no guilt. most people would be horrified by serial killers. they’d demand the electric chair. but to holden? it was fascinating. chilling, yes, but holden loved hearing them speak. the electric chair would impair his ability to talk with them.

henry steight was one of the chilling types. he’d been incarcerated for life for murdering ten young men – all over eighteen but no older than twenty-four. he detailed his murders meticulously, slowly and relaxed. he never once behaved in erratic ways toward police. henry reminded holden of kemper; highly intelligent and horribly conscious of their own psychology and mind. henry had psycho-sexual issues and admitted to killing men for his own sexual pleasure. 

steight fit their interests. and, they’d heard he’d talk to anyone. this was a perfect interview opportunity, if they could get it. bill asked about it; one week later they had an answer. henry steight had agreed to meet them in louisiana state penitentiary. interestingly enough, on one condition: that they bring him a few cupcakes; any flavour but chocolate.  


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

it was annoyingly cold in the empty room they managed to get. it had a metal table in the middle. white, peeling brick walls surrounded holden and bill. they sat with their backs to the barred door. they were waiting for the arrival of their new interviewee. after a while, he walked in. the criminal stood still as his handcuffs were taken off. he quiet took a seat. he listened as holden rambled through the agreement. afterwards, it began. the interview.

holden exhaled. this was it. henry steight.

“mister steight-”

“please, call me henry. i’m a murderer, not your friendly average gentleman,” he brushed off, un-cuffed hands clasped together on the metal table. henry was a six-foot-two man. he sported a handlebar moustache. his hair was still thick and brown, brushed back into a smart-style. he hadn’t aged too much since his incarceration. he looked like an average 80’s man. 

holden gave his best impression of a smile. he glanced at the recorder. it was working. “right. henry – you were put in prison when you were thirty-two…so 1974.” 

“that is correct,” henry replied, reaching for the small cardboard box of pink-iced cupcakes. holden managed to get it through his briefcase. 

“you confessed to raping and killing ten men over the course of seven months. how did that begin?”

“one day, the fantasies…got boring,” he explained. at bill’s inquisitive look, he elaborated. “i used to fantasise about men ever since i was around fourteen. i liked the idea of being dominant to a man.”

“you’re a homosexual?” bill asked.

“absolutely,” henry replied. “is that a problem for the interview?”

“no, no,” holden cut in quickly.

“it was exciting to be in control. i was bullied in school often. punching, kicking…being called names like ‘sissy’ and ‘faggot’ on the daily. fantasising about being in control was fun – i’d never been in control before, over another person. it was…thrilling putting it into action,” the way he spoke was calm. he maintained eye-contact for the majority of his words, occasionally looking down at the cupcakes. “i love these. they’re amazing. perfect amount of sugar.” 

bill glanced at holden for a moment. he pulled out a cigratte. 

“oh, no, please don’t smoke,” henry suddenly said. “it ruins the cupcakes. and your lungs. my father used to. want to know what happened to him?” 

“…what?” bill asked, putting away the cigarette. he didn’t want to deter henry away so early into the interview. though he was sure holden would say something stupid within a few minutes and cause henry to storm off. 

“died of lung cancer in ’67.” 

“oh, i’m sorry…were you close?” holden leaned forward slightly. 

henry chuckled, and went silent. neatly trimmed fingertips squished a small bit of the cupcake. 

“i know some fathers can be terrible,” holden continued. 

bill raised an eyebrow. “henry?” 

they tried to initiate another conversation. bill tried asking about the fantasies again. holden asked about his mother. there was no response, and they were beginning to wonder if this was the end. it was so early to screw up. they’d barely gotten anything from him. holden leaned back in his chair. 

henry inhaled. “he was mainly absent.” 

holden leaned forward again. 

bill would never tire of seeing how responsive holden was to their interviewees. he was eager to know anything from them. no wonder ed kemper took a liking to him. but it was also why bill had to supervise him. he was vulnerable. he still occasionally had panic attacks. the last one was a month ago, in the basement where they worked. he’d gotten a call about his mother being in a car accident. holden was working himself to the bone then, never stopping working on a case. he was running on a few hours of sleep. he wasn’t handling his stress well. it made sense that that was the last straw to break him. after saying he’d come to the hospital, and despite sounding very calm throughout it and understanding it was minor injuries, he’d immediately collapsed against the wall after hanging up. it was the first time anyone had seen it. wendy had run to his aid and calmed him down after a few minutes. everyone began to walk around eggshells since then; this was his first proper interview after that. he was trying to prove himself again. trying to show that he could handle this, to his coworkers _and_ to gunn.

“sorry to hear that…were you close with your mother?” holden questioned. 

“it was a normal relationship. we respected eachother. i have nothing against her. i assume you ask me this to see if i had anything against my parents which may manifest into why i raped and murdered people. unfortunately for you, there isn’t anything there. i feel nothing toward my father,” henry smiled wryly.

bill bit his lip. “when was the last time you saw her?” 

“1975. she visited me for the last time. she refuses to see me now. she’s ashamed of what i’ve done, and i don’t blame her.” 

"how does it make you feel that she doesn't visit?" holden asked.

henry chuckled. he leaned forward, staring into holden's blue eyes. "i'll answer because i like indulging. but you should rephrase it. i was upset. sad. confused. she visited me for years before she suddenly stopped. now i've had time to consider it, i understand. i could never force her to see me." 

"so there's no bad feelings toward her?" bill didn't believe that entirely. but henry's posture was the same. there was no gritting of teeth, no frowning...no indication to his mental state. 

"not at all." 

"...how should i rephrase it?" holden questioned innocently. 

henry smiled, happy to help. "don't ask anything with 'how does it make you feel'. it's insulting." 

holden nodded, and to bill's evident confusion, _wrote it down_ on his notepad.

“i don’t mean to topic jump, but returning back to your fantasies…” holden said. “did they start…vanilla?” 

“for a short while. i liked some of the boys in my school. i fantasied about holding hands, kissing…that sort of thing. it was never violent in nature. then it became it, after i had sex for the first time with someone of the same sex.” 

“when was this?” bill exchanged glances with holden. 

“i was a very late bloomer. i was thirty.” henry studied them with blank eyes. “it was…boring. i mean, sure, it was exciting to an extent. but it got boring fast. i realised i wanted to be the dominant one. so i went to a bar, started to experiment for a while. each time i went a bit further. i met a guy with a blood kink. he likes to be cut. so i cut his back with a knife. nothing serious. just enough to bleed. i realised…” 

“you liked it.” holden couldn’t keep the intrigue out of his voice. “and then…”

“i got involved in more violent acts. it was all consensual, ‘course. until…i met a guy who liked more vanilla stuff. jeffrey knight. i convinced him to try handcuffs. he did. and then…i did what i wanted with him.” 

bill opened the file in front of him for a moment. “jeffrey knight – twenty two when you killed him first. was this that night?” 

henry smiled, reminiscing. “it was. i gagged him, and then…hurt him, and raped him. it filled me with so much more gratification than before. i realised this was what i wanted.”

“is there a reason why you chose jeffrey?” holden asked, getting out another pack of cupcakes. 

henry neglected to answer for about a minute while savouring the cupcakes. bill figured he may as well wait. he had the urge to smoke, but…couldn’t. everyone smoked nowadays. what was the issue? well. bill glanced at holden. the kid was busy scribbling notes into his notepad. he didn’t smoke. holden seemed to have no bad habits, aside from behavioural. panic attacks, being brash, too motivated. he seemed to be behaving here, though. that was enough for bill. 

bill wondered if henry had forgot the question. he answered that internal question for him a few moments later. 

“i chose jeffrey because he was young. he was wearing a crisp suit. shirt tucked into his waist – he was my type.” henry gazed at holden. “funnily enough, like you. if you were at the bar that night, i would have picked you, you know. all doe eyed, earnest…so thirsty for knowledge. i’d have enjoyed that night very much. maybe even your murder.” 

holden’s lips parted with shock. “…what?” 

bill scowled. the fuck had he just said? henry steight just admitted that he would rape and murder holden, because he ‘was his type’. it left a sour taste in his mouth. bill didn’t like the idea of holden being objectified like that. “just get the fuck on with your story, henry.”

henry’s eyes lingered on holden. “i talked with him for a while.” 

“at that point, had you decided to rape him?” bill took over, letting holden breathe for a moment. 

“it was only when he mentioned he strictly did vanilla things that…it popped in my head. what would happen if i did it with someone who was…less consenting than the rest? i tested the theory.” henry crossed his arms against his chest, resting against the back of the chair. “i talked with him for ages. i invited him to my house. he came with me. i convinced him to put on the handcuffs, tied him to the bed posts…and then it was easy from then on.” 

“after you raped him…why did you kill him? you didn’t have to. you could have…dumped him somewhere,” holden suggested.

bill stole a glance at holden. he seemed composed and fine. he exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding. of course holden wouldn’t freak out too much over such a remark. 

henry chuckled. the noise was foreign and unnatural coming from him. “he was already dead after i finished with him. it was an accident. i was choking him. i didn’t stop though. i kept doing it until he went limp and his lips went blue. then i realised. i’d killed him. i used some of my knowledge from books, and cleaned the crime scene.”

“why did you choose the back of the bar to bury him?”

“it was an ironic joke. the bar was near nowhere. the end of town. it was a gay bar; they had to be if people wanted to avoid being murdered because they’re homosexual. it was supposed to be so far it was safe. and it wasn’t safe. not even because it was a straight man doing it,” henry chuckled again. bill decided he really hated it. the smile was wrong on such a face.

“you chose it because it…amused you?” bill couldn’t keep the annoyance out of his voice. 

“of course. though i must admit…the nature of the crime does not. none of it was funny to me. i didn’t…get anything out of it. after murdering, i never felt elated like other murderers describe. i felt empty. i raped; that was the sexual fun bit of it. murdering was just so they didn’t tell. a necessary chore,” henry informed. 

“you never felt any excitement at murdering? no enjoyment? not even slightly looking forward to it?” holden asked. this man was fascinating. a normal home life aside from an absent father. his mother was close to him. bullied in school – perhaps led to a feeling of lack of control. maybe that was why he raped men, to have control for once. a serial killer who does not enjoy killing? 

henry uncrossed his arms. the clang of prison doors resounded in their ears. henry pushed the almost empty packet of mini cupcakes toward holden. “there’s none left, and i only talk if i have these. you’ll have to ask me next week.”

“the hell…there’s one left,” bill pointed out gruffly. “eat it.” 

“no, i have manners. holden brought them here for me. please, take it,” henry smiled at holden. he only really looked at holden this entire interview. 

holden could already see the disapproving stare from bill. the silent ‘don’t take the fucking cupcake’ in his eyes. this was an interview. henry may take it as an offence if he didn’t take it. he reached into the packet and took a small cupcake. expectancy was written all over henry’s face, and so he unwrapped it, and took a bite. “thankyou, henry.” 

henry shook his head. the tall man stood up, watching the guard come in to cuff him again. “no, it’s fine. it’s the least i can do. i’ll see you again soon?” he sounded hopeful.

“yeah, when we can schedule again,” holden nodded, finishing the cupcake. there was nothing better than easy, cooperative serial killers. “goodbye, henry.” 

holden clicked the stop button on the tape recorder, standing up to pack everything away. just as henry was leaving the room behind him, he spoke. 

“agent?” 

“yes?” holden looked over his shoulder. 

“i’d really go for it if you promised to eat more cupcakes!” he called from the hallway. scuffles and complaints from the guards with him sounded. henry laughed heartily. it echoed down the hall. holden was frozen in place, staring at the empty doorway. 

“fucking hell,” bill swore. “he’s fucking creepy. are you alright? god damn creep all over you.” 

holden shook his head. his briefcase clicked shut. “bill, i’m fine. his...attraction to me may make it even easier to hear information from him, as unwanted as it is.” 

bill gave him a once-over. “why’d you eat that cupcake?” 

“his shoe.” was the only reply.

bill lit a cigarette as they left the penitentiary. he had a feeling that this...guy would be increasingly insufferable and disgusting toward holden. his partner seemed to be fine with it, already monologing about what they can see from henry’s words.

holden ford never stopped, not for a second. bill already needed another cigarette to stop the headache he'd inevitably get from holden's incessant rambling. despite that, it was nice to see holden doing well. he'd never tell him that though.


	2. reviewing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the gang reviews steight's tape. gunn's reluctance to allow holden to participate makes the young fbi agent increasingly agitated.

the audio crackled.

holden sat at the large table, wide-eyed as he stared at the tape reeling. wendy sat very still, head tipped to the right, no doubt imagining a scene to go along with the audio. gregg sat with his hands together, glancing around too often. bill was half listening, nursing a morning coffee. it was the morning, he and holden had come back from virginia yesterday. they’d gone to bed late, and came to quantico early. exhaustion lingered in his bones but he ignored it. a stolen glance to holden’s dark eyebags proved that the younger man had stayed up late to go through the tape himself. despite that, holden had eagerness and spirit sparkling in his eyes. he was motivated and ready. fuck, what he would give to feel so energetic early in the morning.

“-_would have picked you, you know. all doe eyed, earnest...so thirsty for knowledge. i’d have enjoyed that night very much. maybe even your murder_.” 

holden’s too-quiet exhalation was just audible. “_what_?” 

bill’s hard tone cut through the silence. “_just get the fuck on with your story, henry_-”

wendy reached over and stopped the audio playing from the recorder. she was silent before raising her eyes across the table to where holden sat. he seemed unaffected by it. “he finds you attractive? what did he do when he said that?” 

“he just stared at me, mainly,” holden replied. “i believe we can use his attraction to me as a way to delve deeper into his thoughts. similar to how i feigned empathy with ed to become his friend.” 

bill crossed his arms, shaking his head. “that’s fucked up. he’s disgusting...fuckin’ fag.” 

“don’t say that,” holden said. all eyes fell to him, and he swallowed, a rare moment of vulnerability brewing in his stomach. he adjusted in his seat. “i mean, around him. he’ll feel hurt.” 

“hurt? he’s a damn murderer. he can’t handle a word?” bill shook his head in disbelief.

“i think what holden means,” wendy began, linking his fingers together in front of her, “is that the word can cause insecurity in henry. he may clam up and refuse to speak if he believes he is being judged for his sexuality. you cannot show disapproval for his sexuality in any way if we want this to work.” 

bill sighed. “alright, i cant argue with that. but...i mean, come on. he’s starin’ at holden with this disgusting, lecherous look. how can i ignore that?” 

holden shrugged. “it’s fine.”

“are you sure?” wendy asked.

it was times like these that irritated holden. the delicate tone to wendy’s voice; the way her eyes gazed at him like he was a kid. he wasn’t weak. he could handle himself just fine. his anxiety was being managed, he felt good today, and he felt good when interviewing henry. yes, it was unexpected. but it worked in their favour and holden would be damned if he let this opportunity go. “i’m fine, wendy. i’m not going to have another panic attack because a murderer rapist thinks i’m fuckable,” holden replied, leaning back in his chair. he ignored bill’s scowl at his wording. “come on, let’s listen to the rest and figure out our play.” 

after a long minute, wendy nodded her approval. “got it.” 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“he ended it because he didn’t have any more cupcakes?” gregg ran his hand through his hair. “i don’t understand.” 

“it could be a comfort thing,” holden suggested. his eyes fell to wendy for a second. she nodded at him. 

“that’s where my thoughts are headed. he seemed adamant that you had to have bought them with you. a requirement. not just a ticket to talk to him, but to give him the comfort _to_ talk to you.” wendy fiddled with the end of her pen. “him offering it to you at the end...you ate it, right?”

“of course,” holden said. “i think these cupcakes are essential. we need to buy as many as possible and bring them in.” 

“you can pay,” bill muttered into his coffee cup.

holden shot him a look.

gregg brought his fingers into a steeple near his lips. “they probably have a connection to his childhood. he specified which ones, right? the crappy sweet packs of six you can get at the gas station. he lived kind of rough, not much money. it’s possible his mother...” 

“-bought them for him because they were cheap. attachments to his childhood and his mother in specifics...it’s a warm memory for him despite the poverty. you can use this to weaken any defences. that brings me to it though. his mother,” wendy said. 

“he likes his mum. there’s no typical bitterness, no claims she emasculated him like the others. his father was mainly absent, he wasn’t abusive but just gone. it doesn’t make sense to have a loving mother but no father and be drawn to control. his mother gave him control. it must have been the bullying he endured. god, i want to go back and ask him _everything_!” holden clenched his jaw, a regretful expression on his tired face. henry’s case files wrapped around his arms like tentacles. they pulled him down under the murky water; he could hear the muffled cold tone of henry. his mind was focused on one thing. finding out more about henry steight. he needed to know. he had to know. if he didn’t, holden felt as though he’d go crazy. “he has a sister though, i don’t know if he likes her.” 

“he had a sister and you ignored that bit?” gregg complained. “come on, man. women are the problem to these guy’s minds. you have to search through their psyche, to see their emotions about every woman close to them.” 

“but he’s taking it out on _men_. a man would have to wrong him to consider enacting such strong control over them,” holden argued, hands flying up to gesture. 

“a woman emasculating him can make him feel like he has absolutely no control. the moment he has dominant sex with a man makes him realise he does have control. riddled with insecurity about not being man enough, he can take it out on those he’s attracted to-” gregg was interrupted by the glass door. outside, bald head gleaming, was gunn. 

wendy stood up and opened the door for him. “oh, sir. hello, we were just discussing henry steight.” her tone is polite, but there was a warning undertone that said plainly ‘don’t argue in front of gunn’.

“really? how did it go?” 

holden got in before gregg. “we have reason to believe that henry raped and murdered men due to his insecurity which unlike our other guys stems from,” he may or may not have glanced at gregg to rub it in, “being wronged by men. it’s entirely possible men emasculated him, and robbed him of his sense of control. the desire to be in control – and his already pre-existing violent tendencies created his motives to do what he did.”

gunn smiled in satisfaction. “that’s great, holden. you’ll transcribe it soon? i can’t wait to read it.” 

“we’ll get it done as fast as possible, sir,” bill promised. “is there something you needed?” 

“i was passing by, so i decided to come here in person. i just need to speak with you, holden. not for long. just two minutes,” he explained. 

holden felt sceptical already. 

“if we could just have a moment,” he asked the rest of the room. he stood in the room as bill, gregg, and wendy all filed out. he pulled the door shut. holden made to stand up. “no, sit down, please.” his tone was friendly. 

holden hesitantly sat back down. gunn mirrored him, sitting down at the head of the table, where wendy sat. 

“i’d like to discuss how your time in louisiana went. it sounds like you did great work, but...i’d like to be a little less professional. i’m speaking as a friend here, holden, not as a superior. a month ago you had...what was it?” 

holden knew he just wanted him to say it. prick. “a panic attack, sir. it was just one time-” gunn didn’t know it had happened before, and thought it was a one off thing. holden intended it to stay like that. “-due to stress, and my mother being in the hospital added to it. i don’t mean to be rude, sir, but...we’ve discussed this after it happened. we deemed that i was fine for going into the field, and that the incident was entirely unrelated to my work.” 

“i know, i know. i just want to know how you’re doing. i’m sure you understand that i...care for you. i care for all my agents here. i want you out there, holden. i need you out in the field. but if you feel like you’re too stressed from the job, then...” 

“i’m not stressed.” holden’s voice was sharper than intended. he was fine. gunn didn’t sound friendly to him. his voice was grating in his ears and it sounded condescending. gunn was secretly laughing at him, he must be. “i can work fine. you can listen to the tape, talk to bill. i’m fine. i can work, ted.” 

gunn surveyed holden. he broke into a relieved smile. “i thought so, but you can never be too sure. you know what? i might just listen to the tape now. i’m too excited to hear it.” 

holden pressed play. he knew what gunn was doing. he was checking the unaltered tape to see how often holden talked and made contributions. well, he could hear it. the interview went great. next interview would be fantastic. the two listened in silence for several minutes.

eventually gunn stopped it at the end. his eyes swivelled around to holden. “he’s attracted to you.” 

holden couldn’t deny it. henry’s body language throughout the interview...was obvious. “yes. i intend to use it against him. he’s more likely to trust me because of his attraction to me. it is uncomfortable, but it’s necessary.”

“-it may be dangerous. are you sure this won’t trigger more stress and eventually another panic attack? this could look bad, you know. not that appearances matter over your health, but...”

holden couldn’t hide his irritation now. it flared through him, and he abruptly stood up. “i’m fine. i’m with bill, so isn’t that fine? i’m with my precious _caretaker_ that you assigned me. so if i have a little freak out, because i’m so horribly vulnerable to the world, then he can comfort me and i can be pushed to desk work so i’ll be okay.” 

gunn sighed. “holden, i don’t mean...”

“i can handle myself. i am not,” he enunciated, glaring at gunn, “a child. ed kemper touched my throat to demonstrate how to strangle someone. i didn’t even flinch. i sat in a room with a man who wants to rape me. i ate a cupcake he offered me. my job is to be in a room with serial killers. let me do it or i swear to god we won’t be able to do the work we want to produce.” against all advice, holden strolled past gunn, wrenched the door open, and left. 

bill looked up curiously at holden leaving the room. he could see tension in the younger man’s shoulders. he was breathing heavily. for a moment, bill worried that it was a panic attack. but one look at his set jaw and clenched fists, bill realised gunn must have set holden’s temper off. and he walked out on him. jesus christ, this kid was bold. “holden, the fuck happened?” 

holden didn’t respond. he stood there, a few steps away from the office, eyes closed as he took deep breaths. it reminded bill of how he paused in the hospital hallway. this was different, bill noted. he was just calming himself down to stop lashing out before he faced everyone again. instead of the exasperated annoyance he felt the first time he saw holden do that, he just felt respect. he cast his eyes downward to his desk to give holden a moment.

it worked, because seconds later holden was practically at his feet. “gunn thinks i’m too vulnerable to interview people. he thinks i’m going to have another panic attack because henry likes me.”

“that’s bullshit,” bill scoffed, shaking his head. “listen, kid, ignore gunn. not entirely, please, god damn, i don’t want you kicked out because you told gunn to fuck off.”

holden smiled lightly. he was listening to bill, wanting his advice silently. 

“i just mean...well, i know you’re damn capable. wendy knows it. gregg knows it. gunn knows it too. you’re the best of us. well. actually, wendy might be, but you get the point,” bill chuckled. “you know yourself best. if you know you can do interviews then you’re gonna be with me interviewing. if you want me to talk to him, i will. asides, you got your pills?” 

“yes,” holden averted his gaze. he was still embarrassed about his repeated panic attacks. it sucked when he was alone and it happened, but when he was around other people it was worse. he hated the judging looks he got from people who worked around him. he hated being treated like he’d have a breakdown any second. like he was crazy. “i’m fine.”

“okay, then you’re fine. no problem.”

“yeah,” holden breathed, “no problem.” 

“gunn’s leaving. he’ll probably call you up in a few hours to discuss it again. keep your cool when he does,” bill advised, looking over at gunn leaving the basement room. 

holden turned to watch gunn go. “i know. it’s just...frustrating. anyway...”

“you want to keep talking about henry,” bill guessed.

“we need a game plan for what we should ask him, and get it transcribed,” holden listed off, holding up fingers as he rattled on. “and find where to buy at least five packs of the cupcakes he likes. and should i respond to his verbal advances? would that be too much?” 

“slow the hell down. wendy’s in her office, we can call her out and talk about it,” he said. holden’s enthusiasm for this job would always annoy bill, but he’d be damned if he didn’t feel at least some of it. “did you just ask if you should act gay back?” 

holden had the decency to look embarrassed. “is it a bad idea?” 

bill smiled in amusement, shaking his head in awe. “you just surprise me, is all. you’ll really do anythin’ to get these guys to talk.” 

“of course, bill. this is my entire life,” holden replied, smiling briefly. the man spun around toward gregg, probably to engage in their argument again.

bill faltered for a moment as he watched holden’s back. _entire life_. holden hadn’t seemed unhappy as he said that. but it seemed true. he had a family. he went back to his son. holden...he had no idea. the one time he’d been to holden’s apartment, it was empty and impersonalized. case files and hand-written notes surrounded the coffee table. there were no photos, no knick knacks. even his fridge was lacklustre. holden hadn’t dated since breaking up with debbie as far as he knew. holden’s life revolved around work. any stress related to his work was stress relating to his entire life. no wonder the guy had panic attacks.

it occurred to bill, not for the first time and certainly not the last, just how unhealthy holden’s life really was.


	3. asking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bill and holden fly out to louisiana. holden's anxiety is only growing.

it’d been a week since holden had stormed away from gunn.

he was lucky he’d been allowed to go back to louisiana penitentiary – gunn seemed hesitant to let him due to his anxiety but even more so, his attitude and lack of discipline. it took wendy’s calm composure and logic to convince the man. he’d had to apologise. holden hated apologising for someone else’s problem. it wasn’t his fault everyone treated him like a child. anyone was bound to become agitated by that. restlessness shot through his stationary body at the thought of gunn.

holden pulled back his shirt sleeve to check his watch. it’d only been thirty minutes on the plane. he twitched in his seat. 

“jesus, don’t tell me you have to go,” bill remarked, raising an eyebrow at him. he sat in the aisle seat; holden would have to awkwardly clamber over him to get to the bathroom as he was in the middle seat. to his right, a quiet woman sat staring out the window. holden may or may not have accidentally elbowed her in the side when getting on.

bill had laughed, the bastard. 

holden shook his head. “no.” 

“then what are you so twitchy for?” bill asked, taking a sip of coke from his glass. nancy was trying to get him to drink less alcohol, and to holden’s genuine surprise, it seemed he was obeying. holden’s theory was that bill was doing everything he could to repair their broken relationship.

“holden.” 

“sorry,” holden replied, blinking. “i was just thinking about henry.” 

“you ever think about anythin’ else?” 

“...yes,” holden didn’t mean to be defensive in his answer. it just seemed like bill was judging him for being focused. not everyone had a problem child they had to cope with and a failed marriage to distract them. he winced at his own thoughts. that...was unkind. not like him. 

bill cast a sceptical look. “like what?” 

holden’s mouth opened. he closed it a moment later. it occurred to him he didn’t do anything else aside from thinking about work. but he liked it. it was thrilling to sit in front of a serial killer and piece together the cogs that powered them to the prison they were incarcerated in. it was his dream job. travelling everywhere, understanding the complexity of one’s mind, and being able to put a voice to the mugshots he saw on television and in the papers. he exhaled. “i guess i don’t.” 

“what did you do when you were younger? like...a teenager?” 

“i just read the newspapers,” holden answered honestly. “i...read about killings in north carolina. i read about a girl being abducted near her highschool in montana, and wondering if she’d be found. she wasn’t until a few months later. she was dead. i...noticed a pattern with the victims and where they were found. it correlated with their names, so the first victim’s name was hannah. she was found in hamilton. the second was a girl called lillian. she was found in livingston. i assumed the police knew that, it was very simple, so i didn't call.” 

bill was giving him that stare again. the stare of genuine disbelief. “you were readin’ about that kind of stuff back then? that was your hobby? reading into gruesome murders and figuring things out?” 

holden bit his lip. “is...that bad?” 

if this was earlier in their friendship, bill would have said it was. he found it slightly disturbing, but...it was holden. and holden was not a bad man. he was just an annoying, undisciplined guy. but bill would never change him. he shook his head after a second. “it’s unusual, sure, but...i guess that means you knew what you wanted to do early on.” 

holden’s shoulders relaxed into the seat a bit. “yeah, i guess so. what’d you do, bill?” 

“what’d i do...” bill hummed. “hung out with friends, argued with the old man as much as possible. just...usual stuff. unlike someone else, i barely touched the newspaper.” 

holden rolled his eyes. “was the printing press invented when you were younger?” 

“you little shit,” bill scowled, lightly hitting holden’s shoulder. “i’m not that old and you know it.” 

holden’s lips were quirked in smug amusement. “of course, bill.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

their smiles had long since disappeared from both of their faces upon arrival of the plane to louisiana. the thought that henry steight existed in this same state dipped bill’s stomach. holden wasn’t unbelievably thrilled about seeing him again personally, but he was excited for another interview to find out more. it was around 11 am when they arrived. a good time for a late breakfast, get a motel, buy some gas station cupcakes, and then interview henry. 

they left the airport with just one bag each. bill hired a car and the two set off to find a motel. it only took about ten minutes on the road to find the one they’d been in before.

“rated...three stars,” holden read out-loud on the sign as they turned into the motel parking lot. “how do they decide these things?” 

“the general public has a consensus?” bill suggested idly, parking. he turned the car off, taking the keys. “who cares. we’ve been here before, it’s good enough for one night.” 

“yeah,” holden agreed. both men left the car, getting their belongings and heading into the main lobby. holden waited behind as bill got them their room key. they dumped their bags down on their beds, and then left to grab some brunch. 

the cafe they ended up going to was different than before. the waitress suggested the eggs benedict; both men agreed to it. bill got stuck in and made no effort to talk. holden picked at his egg with his fork, lost in thought about henry. he couldn’t eat right now; he was too excited. he had so many questions in his mind. the main one was how he was going to handle steight’s attraction to him. holden didn’t want to lead him on out of fear that henry realised what he was doing. he also didn’t want to ignore henry so much that the guy felt rejected and didn’t want to talk anymore. it was a fine line between gay flirting and being straight. he was good at the latter. he hadn’t had much practise at the former...for obvious reasons. 

“eat your eggs,” bill spoke through his thoughts. “stop thinking about that gay bastard and have a meal.” 

holden had no idea how bill knew what he was thinking about. he picked up his knife and fork again and forced a few mouthfuls. it became less difficult to force food down, and eventually he was scoffing it. he really was hungry. he forgot to eat often. too cooped up in his swirling thoughts of work, work, work. no time for other things, like dating. he hadn’t attempted to date since debbie, or since _atlanta_. the thought of what occurred there, and the clear fact that the police had _given up_ shot through him. his fork clattered onto his plate. chains clamped around his lungs, and his breath caught in his throat.

“holden? holden, god damnit,” bill cursed, snapping his fingers in front of his partner’s pained expression. he’d seen that look too many times to not know what it was. he knew holden was upset about what happened in atlanta. bill was frustrated to an extent too. but holden? he was on a new level of guilty and frustrated. bill had tried his best to help him, but...thoughts could hardly be controlled. even though it’d been a year since. “come on, kid. work with me here.” 

holden blinked. he inhaled shakily. “sorry, i...”

“i know,” bill murmured. he’d learnt being indifferent to holden’s troubles didn’t help the younger man. “i’ve told you you can’t do anything about it.” 

“if we rallied-”

“-who? every damn parent in that state has rallied. the police consider this a win-”

“-then there has to be some police who don’t consider it that, we can find them-”

“-holden, it’s over.” 

holden slumped in his seat. “how can it...we worked so hard, everyone did. i saw those parents...they were desperate. someone has to be convicted.”

“there hasn’t been anymore murders since wayne was incarcerated, it was most likely him,” bill set down his cutlery. “i know it’s frustrating, but there’s nothing we can do. it’s not fbi work anymore. come on, let’s go and buy some cupcakes. you thinkin’ about this isn’t helping you.” 

“...okay.” 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

holden set the cupcakes down in front of henry. his finger pressed down on the record button. 

“agents, it’s nice to see you again,” henry smiled at them. “i see you brought me cupcakes again. i have a feeling this is to encourage me to talk.” 

“partly...but also because you like them,” holden replied. he’d morphed his face to look more...earnest and puppy-like. if he had to respond to henry’s interest in him, screw it. he could be...gay. wendy did the same thing – thought up a whole story about being a lesbian to incite a response. bill seemed extremely disapproving about it, but holden didn’t mind. he didn’t think he had any thoughts on people who weren’t straight. they were still people – still capable of good and bad and in between. “please, take one.”

henry opened up the first packet, pulling out the plastic tray inside. he popped a cupcake into his mouth. “strawberry is always the hardest flavour to get. everyone likes chocolate more so they make less strawberry.” 

“i’m not fond on chocolate. sometimes it tastes like plastic,” holden gestured to the pack. “may i?”

“oh, sure,” henry nodded. “yeah, strawberry can never go wrong. chocolate is always a gander.” 

“why do something risky when you can have a guaranteed good experience?” holden couldn’t lie about the cupcakes. they were good. really good. henry had good taste when it came to food. not people. terrible taste when it came to people. 

bill scowled. what was this buddy-buddy picnic shit? they were here to discuss murders. with a serial killer. “last time we were here we asked if there was absolutely no aspect of killing you liked.”

“yes...i was firm in that i felt no enjoyment of murdering people. i have mulled that question in my mind since you asked it, holden,” henry seemed to remember it was holden who asked it. 

“what’s your answer?” 

“i struggle with explaining as i don’t know, but i’ll do my best. after killing jeffrey, i didn’t go to the bar for a month.” 

“yes, you detailed that in the time line made years ago. you killed jeffrey on the 17th. your second victim was a month later. why the gap?” 

“i had to come to terms with what i’d discovered. i liked raping people, but to do so i have to kill them afterwards to avoid detection. but i don’t like murdering, so i had to decide what i wanted to do. the urge of repeating that night compelled me, and a month later i did it again.” 

“did it occur to you you could have found someone who liked intense violence but stop just before they died?” holden was beginning to not understand.

henry crossed his arms against his chest and leant back. “no. that would have been consensual, and you must realise, agent, that i like raping,” he leaned toward holden. “i like the true, primal fear they hold. a pretend roleplay could never emulate that. i raped them, i hurt them during it, and then i made sure they couldn’t tell anyone. it was like ticking off things off a grocery list, only i don’t like going to the store.” 

“you eventually stabbed them multiple times while strangling them – you’re tellin’ me you didn’t like that? if you didn’t like it then why stab them more than once?” bill didn’t understand henry. he made no fuckin’ sense.

“i liked stabbing them. i didn’t like that it led to murder...but murdering them was a necessity. you can like your job, agent tench, but it doesn’t mean you have to like every bit of it. i’m sure some of it is annoying. the plane rides? that would irritate me, i’m not a fan of planes. there’s no telling when they’ll fall from the sky,” henry took another cupcake.

holden licked his fingers clean of the icing. if his eyes flickered up to meet henry’s during the action...then that was a coincidence if the man asked. if bill asked (he definitely would), it was holden being gay to try and appeal to henry. “when was the first time you savoured these cupcakes?”

“my mum brought them home one night when i was eleven. my sister and i immediately loved them and begged her to bring them home as much as possible,” he said. 

“that was nice of her.” holden watched for any signs of discomfort as he asked his next question. “were you close with your sister?” 

there was nothing on his face. no indication of any negative emotion. “not unbelievably close, but we did speak and we played games together. we’d go out on our bikes. she was two years older than i was, so there was a bit of a gap where i could relate to her.” 

“did she ever...make you feel like you weren’t enough? did she ever have control over you?” holden searched for that breaking bit. there was a crack in this family. there was something in his family that caused him to snap and pursue extreme measures of control. he glanced at bill; bill had the same expression of disappointment.

“when my mum wasn’t home, she was the boss of me. she wouldnt let me watch tv because it was only for girls who were thirteen, then fourteen, and so on. she wouldn’t let me play outside in the front in case there were ‘bad men outside’,” henry chuckled emptily again. 

“what’s so funny?” holden questioned. 

henry shrugged. “she was afraid of things outside the house. she should have been afraid of things inside the house, like me. i find it ironic.”

holden exhaled quietly. “i suppose that is quite ironic. you say none of your family members tried to control you, none at all?”

“no. when my dad visited...he was distant, and it was only to talk to my mum. she hated him so they often fought whenever he’d show up. they had never married, see. they planned to after i was born...but then my dad became scared and left halfway through the pregnancy. he never had time to try and control me because he just wasn’t there,” henry replied. he had a smug expression on his face, as though he knew what they were looking for and didn’t want to tell them. holden believed henry wanted them to make the connection. it was now a game; henry was testing their intelligence, testing if it was worth his time to talk to them. holden frowned. what was it that removed henry’s feeling of control? what made him vulnerable? he’d stated it was another man, most likely older that may have emasculated him. he was so confident when he told gunn. but it seemed there wasn’t any men in his family that were responsible. 

for once, holden didn’t know. he’d have to move onto the next thing. friends – specifically school life. 

“you’re going to ask about my life at school now,” henry interrupted his thoughts. his words were soft. “you’ve got a nice ass, agent ford. your voice is perfect for begging. i bet you’re toned under all that drab uniform.” 

bill opened his mouth to protest against his disgusting words.

henry continued idly. “but...holden, you haven’t got the brain i like. think outside the box. what drives me to want control? if it’s my family, wouldn’t it have ended after i left home?” his lips spread into a predatory-like smirk. “you’re frustrated. oh, i like that. you’re thinking, i can see it. your partner is as well. agent, tench? what do you think?”

“a series of failures in jobs, life, further education,” bill said. “leads to an increasing feeling of inadequacy. you think you have control over a job but then you’re fired because of a reason you can’t control. it frustrates you. eventually raping gives you control...fuck if i know.”

henry shook his head. “that can’t be it. holden? what have you got in that mind of yours?” 

holden grit his teeth. “i don’t know.” 

“tell you what. i’ll let you sleep on it, and you come to me with an answer,” henry promised. “if i don’t like it, then never see me again. there’s many serial killers left. word travels fast; everyone hopes to be the one you interview. you’ll have no trouble finding another gay rapist.”

“nobody is as interesting as you,” holden complained without really thinking. he glanced up from his hands. “i...i just mean that surely you can’t stop now. we’ve barely started. we’ve barely discussed your feelings before, during, and after. this would be a waste of time to the study...” 

“oh, your study...” he smiled. “i forgot we were doing that for a moment. i’ve told you. come to me again tomorrow. you look...disappointed, holden.”

“i don’t know the answer,” he said quietly. “there’s no familial ties to anyone. unless you’ve lied to us-”

“-i haven’t.” 

“then, presuming you haven’t lied...all that’s left is friends. jobs, relationships.” 

“they are not why i crave control.” henry stood up. “i’m sorry for disappointing you, holden. but come and see me in the morning, and we can talk then. does that sound good?” 

holden stared in confusion as henry requested the guard. this time he didn’t call out. he was eerily silent as the guards cuffed him and lead him away. holden stared at the tape recorder. what just happened? why did henry always end things so abruptly? did he anger the man? there were still cupcakes left. did he do something wrong? he was receptive to henry’s words. he acted like it made him extremely uncomfortable to hear henry tell him he was attractive. he acted out to give him the sense of control. was it the acting? 

“we’ll have to come back in the morning before our flight,” bill said after a silence. he packed up the recorder, putting it into the briefcase holden often carried. “it was true what he said. there are other serial killers who want to rattle their ass off to anyone who will listen. don’t let it get you down too much. we can call wendy and see what she thinks.” 

holden frowned, standing up. he’d started to interview henry and he wanted to keep going. 

“come on,” bill walked out. holden trailed behind him. 

“you’re right. constant failure in things gives him a lack of control. that’s what i was thinking. but he said it was wrong...how is it wrong?” holden questioned. he didn’t notice that bill was holding his case. “what’s the answer then?” 

“save the questions until we’ve called wendy. because i’d be damned if i knew. henry might just be insane.” 

“not diagnosed as such-”

“-an expression, ford.” bill shook his head slowly. they retrieved their guns and headed out of the penitentiary, once again irritated and with a lack of satisfaction. “let’s take this back to the motel and get some lunch.” 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

wendy hadn’t had a clue. she’d given them the best things she could think of, and reassured them that she’d talk to gunn in advance just in case henry refused to continue to participate in the study. it was still infuriating, both to bill and holden.

holden sat on the end of his motel bed, staring out at the darkening sky. it was already seven pm. they’d wasted the day by going over the tape, talking to wendy, going out for lunch. going out for dinner. driving around. he could hear bill quietly talking to nancy on the phone in the corner. he didn’t both to listen to their conversation. his mind was too busy. what gave henry steight a control complex? why was he so insistent on power over the men he raped and killed? why was rape something he was interested in? he ran his hands through his hair and tugged lightly.

“holden,” bill sounded tired. it was the kind of tone that got holden’s attention immediately. “something happened at home.”

“is everything okay?” holden didn’t want a repeat of his ignorance toward bill’s family. especially after the cross thing with brian. 

“yeah, it’s just...brian is getting into fights at school. i have to go and deal with it. i can’t be there in the morning. i have to take a flight as soon as possible,” bill could see the disappointment brewing on his partner’s face. “i know, i’m sorry. but nance...we’re doing better now. i cant jeopardise that for an interview that may as well be useless.” 

“it's not useless." holden retorted. "there's a chance we could be right if we just think and we can keep the interview up." 

"there's a chance my kid could be in danger of getting his teeth knocked out by some brat of a kid. my family means more than that fag ever will," bill began to pack. 

"don't say that word.” holden watched him pack his things quickly, ignoring bill's raised eyebrows. “but okay. i understand. call me if you think of anything about henry. and...” he shifted, “i need the car.”

“i’m taking a taxi that i called, don’t worry,” bill reassured. “you’ll have it so you can drive it. just don’t crash it.”

“i’ll be fine on the road _and_ in the prison. anyway, wasn’t that you that did that?” 

bill picked up his bag. “no, that was someone else that came from fuck-all.” 

“no, i think it might have been your fault for not paying attention to the road,” holden replied. his tone was innocent. he had the puppy dog eyes. he was doing this on purpose.

bill cursed. “you’re a damn nuisance. let me catch my plane, holden.”

“sorry,” holden smiled in amusement. he watched as bill left the motel. his smile left his lips and he fell backward onto his bed. he didn't not notice that bill hadn't asked if he'd been okay. bill trusted that he'd be fine. that was enough to fill him up with a bit more than emptiness. bill didn't think he was weak. if he smiled at that tiny thing, it disappeared soon after his thoughts came back, louder and damaging than ever. 

henry, henry, henry. he rapes people because of a lack of control and raping satisfies that. what gives him a lack of control? where does control come from? whats the difference between a man with control and a man without? god. he stared up. the ceiling was bland. just like his ideas for henry. he scowled, rolling onto his stomach. what was he supposed to do? it was seven pm, and he couldn’t think of anything.

he'd go over it again tomorrow. he'd figure it out, he had to. maybe he’d buy chocolate cupcakes just to spite henry. he buried his head into the pillow. with the day he’d had, it didn’t take long for holden to fall asleep.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

at one twenty-seven a.m, holden ford jerked awake, coated in sweat and shuddering through a sob as henry steight stood by his bed.


	4. talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> henry gives holden a practical. holden battles with his anxiety.

holden’s grip on the steering wheel was tighter than necessary. 

his yellow-tinted pill bottle rattled in his jacket pocket whenever he went over a bump in the road. 

sleep paralysis. that’s all it was. his stress and anxiety had projected into his dreams, and he suffered a disruption during rem sleep. it was normal. henry steight had not been standing over him last night. he was locked up in louisiana state. he was under surveillance. henry could not touch him outside of prison. he was okay. somehow, he didn’t feel that. the infamous tendrils of anxiety lingered around his chest, offering uncomfortable sensations down his spine. he shifted in his seat, pushing harder on the acceleration as if to physically escape the anxiety. he hadn’t had another attack last night, but staring up at henry, hearing his voice and his hot breath wash over his ears; his moustache tickling his jaw...feeling his heart pump in his ears...he might have been the closest to it since a month ago. 

it was childish of him, but he wished for bill to be sat next to him. even if he was blowing smoke into his eyes in an uncomfortable silence. he inhaled shortly. was there even a point to come to this interview? bill didn’t know the answer to henry’s sudden question. wendy hadn’t. gregg didn’t. it seemed like nobody knew. did henry even know?! holden resisted the urge to hit the steering wheel in a flare of annoyance. he’d gone over the tape eight times after waking up at one am. he’d paced the motel room, even entertaining himself by jumping from his bed to the unoccupied one as he listened (he had to stop because a neighbour thought he was making too much noise). a few sentences had come to holden’s mind, but his mind was distracted at two am. 

he reviewed the sentences in the car, murmuring them outloud; mimicking henry’s intelligent drawl.

“_that can’t be it_.” 

“_if i don’t like it, then never see me again_.”

“oh-!” the sound ripped from his constricted throat. his wording indicated someone who was just judging the words of another person. if he didn’t like it...not if it was right or wrong. but they didn’t know. nobody knew. that was it. no-one knew. he slapped one hand to his forehead, letting out a gleeful giggle. nobody knew – including henry. he was plagued with a chronic feeling of not being in control and it drove the criminal crazy. henry was begging for him to find an answer that he liked. it was easier than it had seemed. maybe they could work it out in the interview. 

this would not be the end of henry steight.

the thought of that lessened the creeping anxiety. he took a deep breath. he was fine. henry was fine. he was a bit concerned about being alone with henry for the first time, what with his rape-y vibes and interest in him...but this was good. with a newfound feeling of excitement, two packs of strawberry cupcakes and a recorder, holden pulled into the prison. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“where’s agent tench?” henry asked the moment he walked into the room. he stood obediently still as the guard uncuffed him. 

“he wasn’t able to make it, so it’s just me. is that alright?” holden asked, stood up next to the table. 

henry watched the guard leaving. he turned his back to the now-closed barred door, and stalked toward the other side of the table. “oh, sure, it’s fine. doesn’t it...incite fear into you? being with me, alone?”

“no,” holden shook his head. that was a weird question. “mind if we record?” 

“go ahead. but i want to know the answer to my question, agent.” henry’s fingers ran across the edge of the table before he sat down. he pulled his chair closer to the table to sit properly. “what did you come up with?” 

“i don’t know,” holden replied. he kept eye-contact with henry to see the emotions flicker over the serial killer’s face. it worked; he saw surprise, confusion, irritation, and finally a blank face. oh, he was good at masking his expressions. well, so was holden. 

“...you came here to tell me you don’t know.” a bemused statement. 

“i did,” holden confirmed. he reached into his open briefcase and handed him a pack of cupcakes. idly, his hand brushed against henry’s. he retracted his burning hand quickly, resuming his words. “but it’s possible to ask a question that you don’t even know the answer to. i think you don’t know why you feel out of control. i think it’s a chronic feeling that you could never solve. what bi– agent tech said before was right.”

“no, it was wrong,” henry replied. “he said i failed in things. i never failed. i had a job at seventeen – i was promoted and kept the job until i was twenty. i went through college for engineering. holden, i was successful.” 

“and yet you still felt out of control. how is it that you felt consistently out of place all the time? how did you acquaint violence with power and control? there was a voice in your head, wasn’t there? telling you you were inadequate. that if you rape and kill these men, you’ll be in total control. you’ll be control more than ever – even in control of law enforcement. and it felt good, didn’t it?” holden leaned forward, eyes glinting. 

henry’s brows lowered a fraction. “it did. there is nothing more riveting than throwing a man against a wall and seeing him realise that he is nothing but a submissive bitch ready to die. it got rid of the feeling for a moment. i suppose that’s why i realised i couldn’t stop.” 

“right, your victims were just a bitch for you to use as bait to law enforcement. who wouldn’t become addicted to that feeling? is it pure euphoria?” holden didn’t withdraw from his bold words despite previous warnings. he had to agree with henry; give the illusion they were friends. this was the only way to really connect with henry – and if it unnerved other people how well he could act like one of them, then that was just a bonus ability he had. it wasn’t his fault he could strategize and improvise well. he leaned back in his chair, relaxed.

“it feels incredible – then the spell is broken as they die. it’s a compulsion to rape and kill. i need to do it, and then...i can find a new toy to mess with briefly. i had to keep replacing.” the serial-rapist mirrored holden’s leisurely position.

“why didn’t you just keep them locked in your basement? a toy,” holden made sure to use his terminology, “just for you, forever.” 

henry smiled. “i did it with one. his name was cameron tikes. a lovely young man. he was hesitant to go anywhere; the news scared him. he didn’t know who to trust.”

“the only black male in all of your victims, and the last victim to be found after police stormed your house,” holden said. “he was found bound in the basement. why only one man?”

“it was easier to keep one alive than all of them, and it was an experiment that i never got to use more lab rats with. i seduced him, drugged his drink, and then brought him home with me.” henry treated himself to a cupcake. “you should have bought some soda to wash it down with.”

“what did you do with him, now that you have a house pet?” holden ignored his statement-request. 

henry smiled. “played with him. i raped him when he was unconscious. then i tied him.”

“yes, i forgot to ask about that!” holden said eagerly. his interest in henry wasn’t subtle in the least. he opened his file and pulled out a grainy photo, depicting a very dead cameron on a stained concrete floor. his arms were bound with thick ropes; his hands were wrapped around his own neck. he turned it around so henry could see. “this was ingenious. he strangled himself.”

“yes,” henry nodded. “he woke up mid-way. oh, they always wake up confused when they’re drugged. there’s a cloudiness – mist – in their eyes. they blink a few times and you can see the panic brewing as they realised what’s happening. it’s adorable.”

“how did you tie it so accurately so that their hands would do that?” 

“would you like a first hand demonstration?” 

holden’s eyes widened a fraction. one: a first hand – bad pun. second: henry steight touching him, and being close to him. he...didn’t like that. the last time a serial killer touched him so intimately, he had a panic attack. but henry was not ed kemper. he hadn’t seen ed in over a year. this was his job. he had one last chance in this interview and if he could scrape by more information from henry, he would do it. he won’t die from this. he had to prove himself as much as possible, because he was a trained fbi agent and he was holden fucking ford and he’d never live it down if he refused to initiate a crucial conversation with henry because he was a bit anxious. he inhaled, exhaled, and then smiled. “please, if it doesn’t bother you.”

henry stood from his chair. “you can stay seated, but just push your chair back a bit so i can go in front of you.” 

“sure.” holden pushed his chair away from the table and remained sitting down. he watched henry carefully. “do you want me to...” he motioned putting his arms across his chest. 

“i can position it. helps me get into the mindset,” henry replied. his tone was void of any emotion. he sounded like he was giving a lecture to a board of unpassionate college students. his hands gently moved holden’s arms against his chest into an ‘x’ shape. holden stiffened. henry could easily snap his arm right now. “don’t freak out, holden. i won’t hurt you. i like you too much.”

“didn’t you only choose men you liked?” holden reminded, cringing internally at henry’s hands over his own. they were rough and calloused; nothing like his own. 

“keep your head straight ahead to show your neck,” henry instructed. he manipulated holden’s hands to rest on his own neck. “i would wrap the rope around your back and across your arms over and over until it stopped the expansion of your ribcage.” he took his hands off of holden’s. holden kept them against his throat lightly to allow henry to gesture. he ran them down holden’s side. it was a sickening tickling sensation, and it didn’t escape the fbi agent that it was more than an accidental touch. it was very telling of henry’s morbid attraction. he pressed down on his arms with a bit of force. “inhale as deep as you can.”

holden did. he found that it didn’t stop him from breathing entirely, but the pressure of not being able to take a full, deep breath allowed the infamous tendrils of anxiety to slowly wrap itself around his arms. he could feel it curve around his shoulders like a snake. a heavy weight reminded him of what this beast called anxiety could do to him. if henry pressed down more; if there were ropes around his back and sides...he could only imagine how difficult it would be to squeeze a breath in through the blind panic and hazed mindset from the drugs.

“that inhibits your breathing already. then i duct tape your hands to your throat, and i keep your thumbs spread across the front,” he applied pressure to holden’s hands; specifically his thumbs. “if they press down here, it’s close to your arteries. you can both strangle yourself and choke yourself, depending on how well you struggle and panic. it’s even possible to post pone your death if you manage your anxiety well...but physically, eventually, no matter what, you’ll die.” 

_die_. 

silence filled holden’s mind. he could just hear the explanation, clouded and murmured as if he was under water. he could still feel the pressure; the disgusting, anxiety inducing choking sensation. the image of cameron flashed in his mind. bound. tied. raped. strangled himself to death with his own hands. he couldn’t stop it. it was inevitable. ropes bound around his ribs. he was shaking in his seat. his back had tensed up. he could feel his shirt sticking to him. the room didn’t feel cold anymore. he had an urge to take off his coat. maybe he should. he sweat a lot when he got anxious. that was annoying. annoying. god, he was annoying. every interview. every single one. he always felt the prick of anxiety. the wave caused by a tiny ripple in his river of emotion. sometimes it was nothing. other times it was enough to make him feel ill. and then...sometimes he felt he might die. dead, just like the victims of the man holding his hands down. still? why was he still doing it? he took a short breath, trying to grasp for air through tight airways. he had an interview. henry. his victims. why did he do it? he had a question he didn’t understand, but he spoke through a choked throat. “so you accept? 

“what?” henry asked, staring at him. the voice was further away than expected. holden hadn’t noticed that he was sat back down. when did that happen? weren’t his hands still on his throat? he blinked, trying to clear his blurry eyes. why were they blurry? it didn’t matter, they were clear now. where was the pressure? he could see henry’s mouth moving. he could see a tiny bit of pink icing stuck on the corner of his moustache. it annoyed him. why couldn’t people clean their moustaches? and what was he saying? he couldn’t hear over the buzzing.

“-ent ford, your hands.” 

herny’s voice filled his ears. it was loud. he jumped. his knee jerked on its own and hit the edge of the table. what? his hands? oh, his hands. _they_ were on his throat. he was pressing down – just enough to feel uncomfortable - on his own throat. his own fucking throat. he ripped his hands away from himself with a start. he stared at them as if they didn’t belong to him. they were shaking. his hands were shaking. small trembles circulated through his hands, twitching his fingers and weakening the muscles. he’d been pressing down on his own throat to imitate henry and strangling himself in his own panic. he exhaled, just as shaky as his hands, and as something to do, pulled himself back under the table on his chair. his knee hurt. did henry say something else before then? or was that him? his ears were ringing. he rested his arms (his arms, his _strangling fucking arms_) on the table. phantom pressure teased at his neck and his lungs. his own fucking hands had been in the beginning stages of choking himself. what the hell. his mind was racing. he had to get out of here. but he needed more. and he asked something that was important. what was it again?

“holden? did you hurt yourself? you were pressing hard on yourself. i’ve...never seen anyone do that one before. fucking hell, are you crazy?” henry’s tone was full of awe and (to holden’s displeasure) enjoyment.

“you did that,” he muttered defensively. his mind was still clouded and he could hardly see his own thoughts through the fog. this didn’t make sense. was henry really in his head that...much? he shook his head lightly. “i asked you...something.” what was it? think, holden, jesus christ. he could hear anxiety giggling at him. “accept,” he blurted. “you said if i could...provide you with an acceptable answer i could see you again, so can i see you again or not because i need to know.” 

“you never explained yourself fully, holden. and it doesn’t sound like your words are perspicuous as before. did i...make you anxious? are you stumbling over your words now? tripping over every thought as you flee from panic?” his fingers tapped on the table in a rhythm that followed no sequence. it amplified in holden’s mind. it was distracting, was what it was. his eyes focused on henry’s fingers. he watched how they flexed against the surface. 

holden swallowed. he ripped his eyes from henry’s <strike>strangling</strike> fingers. he gazed into henry’s corpse-like eyes. find that thought, ignore the rest, pull on it, and let it spill out. 

“i...think we left off at feeling successful. you told me that bill’s idea of being incompetent in jobs and careers may be why you feel out of control and out of place. you told me that it was wrong; you were good at school, you were good at everything. you’re an engineer. i think...socially, you’re an outcast. nothing about you strikes me as nice. you’re not like other serial killers. you’re not particularly pleasant. you’re...creepy. you give off vibes people are sure to avoid. and since you’re gay...you have an insecurity in your sexual orientation. your social status is shit compared to your career. how can you go far in life- in careers if you’re unlikable?” holden fired. he had to stop in between sentences to compulsively rub at his neck. nothing was resting on his throat. he could breathe. it was all in his head. he needed his pills. he needed a pill so badly. he needed to fend off this restless anxiety. he fought off the desire to stand up and pace the room as he spoke. “you were hit and punched in school. boys tend to fight physically to assume dominance. you were probably bad at it and being socially defunct...”

henry was very still now. his tapping had stilled. there was no humming, or nodding along to his words. the only indication that he was listening to holden was that his eyes hadn’t left holden’s face. 

“you were an easy target. it proved to you...” he took a shaky breath of air, “that violence is how to have control. it lasted for so many years the mindset was hard to shake off. the feeling that you were inadequate; weak; nothing...it never left. you never had therapy. you never...you never had anything to help. you probably shut yourself away from your family as you got older. it manifested into anger. you had a violent kink as well. you merged sex and violence into one. you hadn’t accepted your sexuality back then, probably.”

“your theory is that a rough childhood with peers turned into a rough adolescence, which turned into a socially rough time in jobs. i struggled with connecting with my family – that contributed to it,” henry laughed.

a cold jolt ran through his back. holden shifted in his seat. henry was laughing. holden thought people’s laughs told a lot about the person. when bill laughed, it was warm and felt like home. when wendy laughed, it made him want to giggle along with her. when gregg laughed, it brightened his mood. when henry steight laughed, it froze the room. it was an entirely empty noise. a noise henry made because he could, not because he found something really funny. 

“what...what’s so funny?” 

“you’ve thought long and hard about this, haven’t you?” henry observed, clasping his hands together after another bout of hollow laughs. “i had high hopes for you.” 

holden stayed quiet, quietly reaching over to pick up a cupcake of his own. his blue eyes bore into henry’s as he silently bit into it. it was a similar motion of taking a sip of wine when someone was being controversial at a dinner party. this time, however, it was to avoid speaking. because if he did, his voice would shake. he knew it emphasised his trembling hands, and he knew henry had seen it, but he needed something to do to keep him grounded until he left the prison.

“that’s what the psychiatrist said when i was put here and they did an evaluation of my mental state. i was honest and we discussed this exact thing. her theory was identical – that my childhood, specifically in school and among peers, contributed heavily to a constant feeling of inadequacy and lack of place in society. i was hoping you’d come up with a different idea. because if i’m honest, i’m not satisfied about it. it doesn’t feel right. maybe, holden, i’m a serial killer because i just _am_. maybe there isn’t a reason. maybe i just really like full control. maybe it’s because i’m just good at it.” 

“but that’s...it always stems from something. our research suggests that there always has to be something. henry, there is something that happened to you over your life that caused the feeling of control that led to your arrest. i know there is,” holden shot firmly. there was always something. their research...well, it proved that there was always a factor. and they’d found it. henry simply didn’t like it. that was his problem, as far as he was concerned. 

“maybe i’m an outlier, holden.”

holden shook his head. despite all warning bells going off in his head. despite his clammy, shaking hands. despite the anxiety that was beginning to brew too much. he spoke. “give me another interview and i can prove you wrong.” 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

henry had agreed to see him again.

holden knew it was a good thing. they’d have another shot at a more hopefully informative interview. he found that he always had more questions _after_ the interview was over. it was annoying, but at least it gave him more data. questions were good. bill would be with him next time. he could ask things he hadn’t thought of. and they worked better as a duo. the room felt better when bill was there. bill. he hoped he was alright. and brian. brian was a cute kid. he seemed sweet, just troubled. he was doing better these few months, so it was weird to suddenly start fighting at school. he smiled to himself at the memory of first meeting brian. bill thought he didn’t see it, but he did – holden had seen the tender smile on his partner’s face. bill didn’t often look like that. he was definitely a family man. a family man who worked too much. it was good he’d missed the interview to go back to his family. it was frustrating at times, but bill had priorities. 

holden’s only priorities was work. work, and henry steight. he’d quickly found that if there was a case, or a person, his mind became consumed with it. all he could think about was his work. he didn’t mind it usually. it helped. his fixation on cases – on _murderers_ gave him more insight, allowed him to act like them during interviews, allowed him to get in deep with them. thats why he knew he was one of the best interviewers. he knew what to do, where to go, what to say. he knew them better than anyone else, because all he thought about was them.

the downside was that he had nothing else to think about other than work. henry steight’s cold, hollow, dead laugh echoed throughout his head. he hadn’t left the prison car-park yet. he sat in his car, hands pressing into his eyes. he felt ill. he felt crazy. he was crazy. henry steight was seeping into the crevices of his mind in a way that he usually didn’t allow. he could still feel his own hands pressing into his neck, constricting his breathing. he tried to breathe in as deeply as he could. it was hardly a mouthful of air. he dropped his hands and searched for his pill bottle. it took a few tries to open the cap. he shook out a pill and swallowed it dry. he wondered if a bit of it was placebo, because he felt more relaxed as soon as he took it. he didn’t care. he craved the pleasant buzz of the medication working. he liked feeling calm. it reminded him of his starting days. he was calm then. he didn’t feel anxious when he first interviewed people. sure, he did a little bit. he was in a room with serial killers. but he felt safe. now, he didn’t. not unless bill was there. he chuckled humourlessly. when had bill become his safety blanket? well, ever since road school. they’d learned a lot about eachother. he didn’t think bill thought much of him. maybe they were partners. he was a nuisance to bill, though. arrogant, confident, annoying. anxious. ruining interviews by panicking. 

a growl escaped his throat. his mind was skipping topics faster than his breathing during a panic attack. he hated how his brain malfunctioned when anxiety was added. he was doing a better job at handling it...but right now, it felt too difficult to properly put a cap on it. the best he could do was pop a few pills until he got out of the state. then he could truly relax.

he glanced one last time at the prison before pulling out. he had a motel to sign out of and a plane to catch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is posted a lot later than i would have liked. 
> 
> this chapter is also a bit dramatic. i don't mean to make anything too unbelievably edgy (making a mockery of anxiety is not what i want to do at all), but i figured it is a fic...and so i have a bit of room to run around with random ideas (such as henry really getting under holden's skin). this is also not read over in the slightest. i wrote it and i posted it. i'll edit it in the morning. next chapter will be posted in 2-10 work days, delivered by carrier pigeon.


	5. breathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> holden returns to quantico. the team (minus gregg) go over the tape and set some rules.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember when i said i would update in 2 - 10 days? that promise went well. 
> 
> i have had this chapter milling around my files for a while now, but life got in the way and my willingness to write completely evaporated. there's a chance it may take about a month or more for me to update again, and i understand if it's frustrating, but i do intend to finish this fic, even if it takes me three years to write a simple few-chapter fic lol
> 
> anyway - please enjoy this grossly late chapter ^^

holden assumed that leaving the state of louisiana would lessen his anxiety. 

he was partly right; it had lessened in intense physical tells, no longer the firm pressure on his chest and his hands weren’t trembling for no reason. his anxiety had dwindled to a pebble pressure over his heart, but it had settled into the crevices of his mind not unlike a far-away thunderstorm. he wouldn’t have minded if it at least paid rent for its unannounced visit. unfortunately, anxiety was not a surprise visit from a kind stranger. it was a disease that infiltrated every thought he had and forced him to evaluate everyone he saw in case of danger. 

the plane ride had been...interesting. he sat next to a lanky young adult who was much too shifty to not be hiding something. fortunately for the boy but less fortunate for holden, was that he felt too ill to follow his usual curious conversation. when turbulence rocked the plane and filled everyone’s ears with a dull roar, he had to rush to the bathroom. he’d knelt beside the toilet, and in the distant roar of the plane, he heard henry’s low voice. it was a whisper, inaudible words that made no sense to his ears but plenty sense to his anxious thoughts. he hadn’t thrown up his tiny meal from the plane. but he did feel pathetic holding his stomach and trying to fight the nausea. 

shame coursed through his body at the memory. it was a moment of weakness. he wouldn’t tell anyone about it, especially not his co-workers (friends?). gunn would throw him off the case and bill would think he was pathetic. wendy...he didn’t know how she would react.

thinking of his co-workers, holden abruptly remembered that bill was supposed to be picking him up from the airport. he blinked, glancing around at the somewhat busy parking lot. he’d sat down for a moment on a bench outside the airport to wait for bill. a flash of his watch on his wrist told him he’d been there for over ten minutes now. was that how long he’d been trapped in the confines of his anxious jail? he stood up, clutching his briefcase in his hand with a bag slung over his shoulder. where was bill? running late? he supposed he should be thankful bill was coming to pick him up at all. 

to holden’s relief, the familiar plymouth’s engine rumbled toward him. the car pulled up onto the curb, grey polish glinting - it’d been cleaned recently. he hurried toward the car, smiling at bill who leaned out the open window.

“been waiting long?” bill asked, peering through dark sunglasses.

holden put his bags in the back seat, joining him in the passenger seat. he shut the door behind him, settling in. “not for long. thanks for picking me up, bill. i appreciate it.” 

bill started the car and they headed off. “it’s nothin’. how was the interview?”

“same as always,” holden clicked his seatbelt into place, “but i think it went fine.” 

it did not go fine. it was the opposite of fine. it was terrible. 

it was an absolute shit-show; a horrible disaster, a mess. he should get rid of the tape since it was so terrible. it was so terrible that holden hadn't actually listened to it yet. more importantly, holden was struggling to make sense of henry. he didn’t make logical sense at all, and trying to focus while controlling his anxiety was a struggle. 

bill nodded. “that’s good. i went to the school and resolved things. brian told me they fought because the other kid was making fun of one of his friends. i don’t know why i was worried. i know brian’s a good kid.” 

holden smiled lightly. “yeah? that’s good. he’s turned out good because you’re a good father. how’s nancy?” 

“good father...” bill scowled. holden could see the pleased look on his face though. classic bill. compliments did not come to him easily. “nancy’s...good. i think we’re getting better. we ate pizza together and watched tv...no arguments. nothin’. just...normal.” 

“i’m glad things are looking up.” holden stared out of the passenger window, trying his best not to look at bill too much. he was worried he’d hug the guy. all he felt was an overwhelming amount of relief. he felt safe. like bill would protect him if anything happened. henry couldn’t reach his thoughts if he was with bill. 

“what about you?” bill eyed the side of his face. 

holden exhaled with a quiet laugh. “me? what about me?”

“see any nice girls in louisiana?” 

“there was a woman without teeth who walked by the motel,” holden replied. he chuckled humourlessly. “i don’t think she noticed i was stood by the car until i said hi. then she told me to...fuck off.” 

bill shook his head, revving the car as he sped past a parked undercover cop with a plate he recognised. nothing like acknowledging another with a nice engine noise, holden thought. he didn’t know the officer that was in the car, though. he didn’t recognise a lot of people unless they were in prison for multiple murders. “fuckin’ meth-heads. most of ‘em got kids. little kids. i couldn’t imagine doing that to brian.”

holden nodded, but he wasn’t listening. bill’s voice had lowered in his anger. henry never sounded angry, but it was uncomfortable, and bill was good at making him feel uncomfortable with his remarks sometimes. the car felt tense; no longer the epitome of tranquillity. he rubbed his hands together. they weren’t against his chest. he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through dry lips. breathing. cameron wasn't able to breath like he could. 

what were the last thoughts in that young man’s head?

fear? 

acceptance? 

confusion? 

did he know the moment he woke up that he had maybe an hour to be alive? to be human? to feel before the void of nothingness? sometimes, he wish he knew. most times, he felt as if he was sane because he didn’t know.

sometimes he thought he was dying when he had a panic attack. his mind knew what it was; knew the tingling sensation in his palm, knew the tensing of his muscles, knew the shortening of breath. logic had never escaped him like that, but it fell into dark confines of his mind that took a while to wade through to find. it was a murky swamp and every time he took a step through the water, a thought grasped his ankle. don’t go further. don’t look for logic. don’t understand what is happening, don’t look at the ground. don’t think about your senses; what you hear or feel is irrelevant! all you need to feel is the panic. it’s good. it means you’re dying. 

only it doesn’t. not when you have a panic attack. after the terror has set in and your lungs spasm over the noise of your beating heart, it stops. it slowly lessens its grip on your back, on your clenched muscles. your heart sinks back into a familiar rhythm, and the sweat on your shirt is a reminder that you’re still alive.

cameron didn’t have that luxury.

the pressure on his chest was real. his lungs would have continued to struggle to take in air. the sweat rolling down his temples was a reminder of the heat in the basement. a basement that he knew he would die in. god, god, god. was he real? no, of course not. it’s an illusion designed to comfort humans. did it comfort cameron? his mother was a christian. did he pray in his last moments? why was he thinking about cameron? he’s a victim and all of his questions were intrusive anyway, so maybe he shouldn’t fiddle with an ouija board to speak to cameron. he needs to think about the killer. henry. henry, henry, henry-

someone sneezed. 

holden knew it wasn’t him. it must have been bill. he turned his head to stare wide-eyed at his partner in crime (not-crime?). 

bill glanced at him in his peripheral vision. one eyebrow was raised.

“bless you,” holden blurted. he looked out the window again as if the air flowing into the car could clear the anxiety brewing in the corners of his mind.

bill slowly nodded in hesitant appreciation. his tongue wet his lower lip in anticipation for the conversation that he knew holden would not start. “did something happen?”

holden’s head whipped around to give bill the same bewildered stare as before. “what gives you that impression?” 

“you look spooked. you only have that look when you’re anxious about something-“

“i’m fine, bill. you’re thinking too much-“

“-so what happened?” he interrupted. his eyes stayed on the road, aware of the unspoken agreement to not discuss these sorts of things and to give himself an illusion of space between them. this wasn’t what they did. they spoke of murders and what takeaway to get while on the road. that was all. not feelings and emotions and holden’s yellow pill bottle in his jacket pocket.

if this was a year or two ago, holden would keep his mouth shut. but this was bill, and a warning to the older man might be beneficial for both of them - even if bill would spend the rest of the trip to quantico yelling at him.

“...there’s something on the tape.” 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

_ “i won’t hurt you. i like you too much.” _

holden's thumb circled the tip of his forefinger. his eyes gazed blankly at the surface of the table, trying to figure out the type of wood it was. there was only a vague amount of genuine interest in the sleek complexion of his four legged acquaintance that had absolutely no conscience. right now, he wished his mind was as empty as a piece of furniture. furniture didn't have thoughts, feelings, anxiety; lacking the crippling anticipation of everyone in quantico to realise that his anxiety had never left him. once they heard the rest of the tape...he would be removed from this case and either fired or shoved into another department. furniture also didn't have to sit in a room with the rest of his team and listen to a tape which would soon depict himself having a panic attack.

he wondered if there would be any bargaining he could offer to anyone in this room. he could argue that henry wasn't responsive to bill on levels that he was to holden. he could argue that this wasn't a panic attack, that it was a brief moment of disorder that he quickly restored in a timely manner. he was professional. this tape proved that he could bring the interview back. he had some of the tape to work with in his favor. he needed to choose his words carefully, and if he did it well, this tape might not reach gunn and remain a quiet secret shared with everyone. for this tape go-over, gregg was not available. that meant if they had to hide the tape or censor the transcript like before, they could do it without being revealed by a morally-correct man.

_ “didn’t you only choose men you liked?” _

he'd told bill only a few things in the car. 

1) he'd had a panic attack. 

2) he managed to save the interview and continue despite the panic attack. 

3) henry wanted another interview. 

bill's first reaction was a visceral, "jesus christ, holden" that did nothing to relieve him of the stress building. bill's reaction was why he was having a staring contest with a table. the man hadn't stopped staring at him since the car conversation, and holden was half sure bill had fine-tuned his anxiety detection skills over the past year to perfection. he felt relieved that it was only bill and wendy; he and bill had been adamant that gregg not listen in to this tape, just until they decided what to do.

if he kept his eyes far from bill's, he felt as if there was less chance of him deciphering holden's mental state. his nervous ticks like shifting in his seat, or staying too still (it varied) were on full display for his co-workers, and they all knew it. wendy might not know that something is on the tape that shouldn't be, but she will soon, and her eyes continued to flicker to holden. he felt the grinding of thoughts in her head about what they weren't telling her. he felt bad for keeping her in the dark, but it wasn't for long. soon she'd hear the proof for herself; holden ford was mentally unstable and unsuitable for work.. 

holden knew that wasn't true. he wasn't mentally unstable. he had anxiety, and a high-stress job like this sometimes interfered. once he communicated that point across to the others...when he _figured out how_...this tape won't matter. this tape won't matter. he would never live it down if 'eight ripe cunts' wasn't the thing to ruin his career, but anxiety was. perhaps sending ed kemper a thanksgiving card detailing how thankful he is for his anxious awakening would be much appreciated.

he raised his eyes from the table, sitting straight and keeping his face neutral. in interviews and interrogations, holden often watched for any nervous tics. tiny repetitive movements like fiddling with your fingers, shifting constantly in your seat, running a hand through your hair...all pointed to different meanings. naturally, he did the same thing with other people. he watched their movements and deduced what he could - did their body language betray their words? what were they really telling him between the lines? wendy was especially good at people's tells. that's why, when he heard the tape reaching the boiling point of past-holden's anxious breakdown in the prison, he straightened his spine and stilled his fingers.

it was battle time. 

henry's monotonous drawl sounded fuzzy through the recorder's speaker. he was nearing the end of his quiet speech. holden could picture the scene; he was sat in the chair, hands gripping his own neck. henry's bigger hands rested on his arms, constricting his breathing. henry conducted himself as though he was demonstrating how to put together furniture. void of emotion, regret..._empathy_. so void of being human. 

but what was being human, anyway? 

was it growing up with laughter ringing in a child's ear? was it hushed whispers and giggling voices during a sleepover? was it wincing when someone's best friend fell off their bike and scraped their knee? was it tearing up at a romantic comedy because somehow, you can feel the protagonist's pain? was it first kisses and fumbling around in the dark? was it being social? enjoying the company of others? 

was that the only _human_ someone was able to be?

what about being a social outcast? not enjoying people's company because they never seemed to understand your interests? was being human getting bored at the same romantic comedy everyone else was crying about? was being human not caring too much for the well-being of others because yourself came first? was being human planning things in the dark? was being human picking up a knife and finding warm flesh to sink it into? was the adrenaline of the chase human?

humans are flawed. tragically flawed and scarred to a point where it is beautiful. differences are beautiful. why was it that living differently to most people made it so inherently not-human? 

if holden decided to stab and kill eighteen people over ten years, the newspapers would label him as a monster. someone who could never be human - was never human. did distancing themselves from a serial killer make it easier to cope with the knowledge that different people exist? 

was it wrong to say henry isn't human? he's human in his own way. he indulges in cupcakes because they remind him of his childhood. he's close with his sister to a comfortable degree and never hurt his parents. he enjoyed his childhood. he retreated from holden and continued to talk to him to attempt to stop his panic attack. he enjoys raping but not murdering (allegedly). why were the good traits ignored in favour of the bad ones? why was henry so human yet not allowed to be? was the difference that serial killers are too human? 

were they labelled as not human simply because more people weren't psychopaths?

what if people who felt empathy and were not psychopaths were the minority? would they be called monsters for not hurting others? 

it was a stupid question.

holden exhaled. this line of questioning was a cold end and pursuing it was useless, especially as his empathy brought him too close to people behind bars. the answer wouldn't help with his current situation of his analysis of other serial killers in the future anyway. a quick shake of his head to clear the proverbial fog in his mind and he was back in focus.

"_agent ford, you're strangling yourself. agent ford? agent ford, your hands_." 

holden allowed his eyes to flutter shut for just a moment, fighting back the second-hand anxiety with a stick. his eyelids fluttered open. at least now he knew what henry had been saying at the time. when it was happening, holden couldn't hear him over his own panic. 

holden looked at bill first. the man had his hands over his face, and he massaged his temples. quiet expletives passed his lips. 

wendy was next. her expression was...one of concern. she was staring at holden, searching his face for something. holden didn't know what she wanted from him.

the group listened in stiff silence to the tape. the casual glee in the serial killer's tone as he asked if holden was crazy had bill looking as though he'd answered it in his head.

there was something eerie about hearing himself struggle to breathe. every short and desperate inhale sent an uncomfortable jolt through him. was that really what he sounded like? he focused on a hangnail, tugging at it between his fingertips. he stopped when it started to hurt. he'd need a pair of nail clippers to remove it without ripping the rest of his skin. it was a good reason not to look at wendy and bill's disappointed faces, though.

when holden looked up after his breathing had calmed down and his past self and henry were talking, he noticed something in bill's expression. his partner's eyes were twinkling with something that did not seem like bad news.

the young fbi agent took that as _something_ good.

eventually, the tape ended. 

holden sat straight in his chair. he had to prepare himself for every single question that would fly at him. they would inevitably take it to gunn and he would need to be extremely precise in his words. best to practise now.

wendy stayed still, hands clasped on her lap. her eyes lay low on the table surface. "did you know you would experience severe anxiety when you decided to go to the prison without bill?"

holden's lips twitched, lost between different answers. 

bill switched his eyes between the two of them, propping his head up with his hand. "well, did you?" 

"i had my pills..." holden explained. 

wendy raised her head.

her dark eyes bore through him, and she tilted her head to the side. "did you know." 

holden chewed on his lower lip, hesitating. "i- well, no! i can't know when it'll happen, it just does. but...yes, i felt slightly anxious before i went in. i didn't know it'd be so bad." 

wendy brushed her hair behind her ear. "okay." 

"okay?" holden quietly echoed. 

bill exchanged a questioning expression with wendy, who suddenly stood from her chair. she stepped toward a black board positioned in the corner, wheeling it to the head of the table. her fingers wrapped around a small piece of chalk. 

"rules!" she announced, slapping the chalkboard's surface once. 

holden jumped, shoulders raised protectively. he shot a glare to a snickering bill. turning his attention to wendy, he raised an eyebrow. "rules..?" 

"number one," wendy's cursive handwriting enunciated her words on the board, "every interviewer must be accompanied with a partner." 

the two men sit in silence, not daring to interrupt her. 

"number two." she turned her head to ensure they're watching. "if you don't feel emotionally, mentally, or physically up to the task, no matter how minor, you have to speak up and we can decide as a group if it's fair to let someone else take over in the interview." 

holden looked away, shaking his head in disapproval. "we can't let personal problems get in the way of work. if you can't work while feeling a bit bad then don't show up and work somewhere else." 

chalk clattered onto the small chalk holder at the bottom of the board. wendy turned on her heels, staring hard at him. "if you had told me, told _us_ that you felt anxious to go in the prison, we could have avoided you having a panic attack during the interview." 

"it's not a big deal. i worked through it. you heard." 

"what i heard was a man who refused to admit he has bad days and went head first into a bad situation. we have full transparency here - that extends to being open about our well-being," wendy chastised. her tone was not entirely angry, but she wasn't happy about holden's comment. "it's a rule now; it's on the board and you have to obey it." 

"asides," she added after a moment of thought. "you can't reveal weakness to the person you're interviewing. it can skew the results and they might form a bias. understood? holden." 

holden raised one hand in an idle gesture. "yes, alright. i understand."

"what's number three?" bill asked, eyes steady on the board. 

holden jumped again, bending over to look under the table. "ow, what was-" 

bill's passing glance was enough to shut him up. 

silently bristling, holden politely gave his attention to wendy. whether a gift from god or just their coworker's odd timing, the door swung open to reveal gregg, and his attention was stolen again. 

bill and holden turned in their seat to peer at him. wendy raised an eyebrow.

"sorry to interrupt," gregg panted as if he'd run a marathon, "gunn wants to listen to the tape." 

"the tape?" wendy repeats.

"not the transcripts," gregg confirms. "the tape. in full, right now. it's not a problem, right? i mean, we all agreed not to say anything bad on it." awkward eyes land on holden.

"why?" holden stood, suspicion in his tone. "he's usually fine to wait for the transcript and then listen as he reads." 

gregg raised a shoulder. "i don't know."

the three exchanged a somewhat worried look. 

it took less than a second for gregg to realise what it means. "you know what? i'm not going to ask. whatever holden said, or did, i don't want to know your cover-ups. but you better figure it out in the next ten minutes because he wants all of us to go. let me know when you're ready and we can go." he retreated from the room, letting the door shut quietly behind him. 

bill's hands rub his face. "shit's going to hit the fan when gunn hears this." 

"we're not going to erase it?" holden asked quickly. 

wendy shook her head. "i think," she murmurs, "that if we keep it in we can maybe save your position here. come on - two minutes to get ready, holden. then we go." 

the tape recorder is left in bill's hands, and the older man sighed as he walked past holden to the door. "you'd better get ready to fuckin' beg." 

both of holden's coworkers left the room. the silence was the perfect breeding ground for loud thoughts, crashing through his head like the abrupt jump of cymbals. quieter, tender thoughts of hope and faith in his boss to keep his job were overpowered by the thunderous chaos of the anxious, angry, and panicked thoughts. his hands leaned on the table, head hanging between his shoulders. 

"i'm going to be fine," he whispered, "i'm going to be _fine_. i'm going to be fine. i'm going to be fine. i'm going to be-" the mantra was disrupted by an unsteady breath. desperate fingers fumbled for his pills in his pocket, emptying the rest of the bottle out into his mouth. 

once courage had been given to him in the form of tiny pills, holden marched out of the office, heading toward his coworkers with a false sense of security and a smug smile. 

"he won't get rid of me. he needs me," holden said as he walked by the group. 

it was time to beg for his job.


End file.
